


The Real First Kill

by tosca1390



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was no Casey to fall back on this time.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real First Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ep for 3x13, _Chuck Versus The Other Guy_. Originally posted June 2011.

*

For about three minutes, Chuck just held onto Sarah, his heart in his throat. The night was cool around them and he couldn’t stop shaking, his fingers trembling on her back. Below them, the river was dark and still, the ripples from Shaw’s body settling into nothing. She was limp in his arms, distractingly weak-limbed, but still breathing. She was breathing and alive and that was all that mattered. 

And then, the last ten minutes hit him like a sack of bricks (which actually happened on a mission involving German drug mules about a year ago, so it was a recognizable feeling). 

_Fuck_ , he killed Shaw. 

He _killed_ Shaw. 

“Oh god oh god oh god oh _god_ ,” he muttered, gripping Sarah tightly. “Oh god.”

Sarah made a soft sound, right against the thin skin of his neck. He breathed out slowly and stroked the hair from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face slack; he’d never seen her quite this still, and he didn’t like it. He took a moment to pluck the small dart from her shoulder and shoved it in his pants pockets. On second thought, he slipped the gun into his pocket as well. 

_Clean up after yourself_ , he heard in his head, in a voice that reminded him too strongly of Casey. And man, what a sign of the life he led now, to hear _John Casey_ in his head. 

Wait. He needed to focus. 

_Don’t freak out_.

“Come on, Intersect,” he muttered, staring down at the dead weight of Sarah Walker all but flopped against his chest. “Flash me some super strength.”

It didn’t. Of course. 

In the end, he had to lean her against the edge of the bridge wall (which gave him the shakes, not that he’d ever admit that, because she had just been dangling from it moments ago and holy _shit_ he killed Shaw) and scoop her up over-the-threshold style (and oh _god_ maybe that was still possible, despite the killing). He staggered through the dark streets of Paris, his arm muscles tingling with the pressure of Sarah’s weight. Her arms looped awkwardly around his neck, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. She was warm and alive and that's all he cared about. 

The carrying, however, was not as easy as it looked in movies. Man, he needed to work out more. Maybe cut back on the cheese balls. 

Not for the first time, as he stumbled on the cobblestones, huffing into the cool night air, he wondered what had happened to his life. 

Finally, they reached the café (slow and steady wins the race). Chuck couldn’t help the relief that rushed through him to see Casey talking to some very serious-looking men in black, with Ring agents and the Director settled around the table in various states of consciousness. Casey had a cigar in hand, which was equally comforting. 

When he reached the nearest table, Chuck poured Sarah into an empty chair; she relaxed into it like a ragdoll. He crouched next to her and smoothed her hair and the lines from her forehead, his heart beating so fast he thought it might explode out of his chest. Casey’s gruff voice and the heavily accented English from the other men melted together into the background. Chuck couldn’t catch any of the words, not right now. All he could think about was two short days ago in his apartment, when she had kissed him (even with his ice cream and whiskey breath) and said _yes_. She had said yes. Which meant maybe, just maybe, their cover-not-cover had all been more real that she’d ever let on, as real as he’d dreamed and hoped and pined. He could watch his John Hughes movies without those horrible pangs throughout his whole body now. 

Except for the small thing of _killing_ Shaw. There was no Casey to fall back on this time. 

After a few minutes, the men in suits left with the Ring agents and Director in their possession. Casey towered over Chuck and Sarah, face immovable. He took a long drag off his cigar before he spoke. “You’re sweating profusely. Like a snitch.”

Chuck glared at Casey. “It was a long walk.”

Casey snorted. Smoke curled around his face, shading him in the yellow lamplight. “We’ve got to get you into some strength training, Bartowski.”

An image of Shaw covered in blood flashed before Chuck’s eyes. Bile rose in his throat. “Maybe not right at this exact moment, okay? Okay,” he muttered, sitting down on the curb. His hands were shaking again. The gun was heavy in his pocket. “I should get her to a bed, or something.”

“You’ve got a room for the night. Beckman’s got you covered.”

Chuck put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. “You talked to her?”

“Yes. Also, you can call me Colonel again.”

“You’re reinstated? Great. Team’s back together. Awesome,” Chuck said a little too brightly. Was that blood on his shirt?

Casey clapped him on the shoulder after a minute. “Shaw’s dead?”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Chuck slowly nodded. “I shot him, Casey. I shot him.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. All he could see was Sarah smiling, her words on repeat in his mind like a skipping CD: _You’re still my Chuck_.

“You had to.”

“I know—I know,” Chuck said heavily. 

That was the thing; he _did_ know. In that split second between Shaw raising his gun and firing off the kill shots, Chuck had _known_ with the sharpest sense of clarity that there was no other way. It wasn’t like the red test; he didn’t know what the difference is, but there was a difference. He could feel it right in his gut. 

Something deep inside whispered _Sarah_ , that that was the difference. What that meant for Chuck the CIA agent versus Sarah’s Chuck, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to think about it too hard. 

“It’s not the same thing as your red test,” Casey said finally. “She’ll understand.”

Chuck looked up at Casey, mouth slightly ajar. “Um… you think?” he asked, at a loss. What parallel universe had he dropped into where John Casey was giving him advice on women?

“Yeah. Now maybe you should stop blubbering and get her inside. The toxin they gave her will run its course through her system, but she’ll need to sleep it off,” Casey said brusquely. “The car pulling up is for you two. They’ll take you to the hotel.”

Heaving himself up, Chuck pulled the gun from his pocket and held it gingerly. “I guess—“

Just then, Casey snatched it from his hand. “I’ll take that. It’s evidence.”

Relief swelled up in Chuck’s middle, clear and bright. “Thanks,” he said, meeting Casey’s flat gaze. 

Rolling his eyes, Casey puffed on the last of his cigar. “I’ll see you back in Burbank.”

A black unmarked car pulled up at the curb. Chuck gathered Sarah against him, his arm steady at her waist, and walked her towards the car. The city was quiet around them, thankfully. His heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat. Was there a cure for that? Or for the heartbreak he would suffer if Sarah ducked and ran on account of Shaw?

He had just gotten Sarah into the backseat when Casey’s voice from behind stopped him from hopping in after her. 

“Hey, Chuck.”

Turning around, Chuck glanced at Casey, who looked more like himself than he had in weeks. “You did well today,” Casey said quietly. Maybe it was just the distance, or maybe it was the light, or maybe it was Paris, but it seemed as if something like pride softening the lines around his eyes. “Good job.”

Hesitating, Chuck nodded and slid into the backseat of the car. He pulled Sarah close to him as they pulled back into the road. As if on instinct, she curled into him, her breathing rising and falling in slow pulls and presses against his side. He slipped his hand into hers, curling his fingers around hers. Deep in his chest he held a breath like a secret; I killed Shaw echoed in his every breath. He knew he wouldn’t be able to try to let it go until Sarah woke up. 

God, how he wanted her to wake up. 

*


End file.
